


Null

by RosemarysBabysitter (TashaElizabeth)



Series: Goretober Prompts [13]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/RosemarysBabysitter
Summary: Joe especially likes choking Brock Lesnar. Goretober Prompt: Asphyxiation





	Null

A lot of guys got hard when you choked them out. It was physiological, Joe knew all about it. Just a biological reaction. Side effect of fight or flight or interrupting blood circulation or respiratory cycles or something. No big deal. It didn’t mean anything. 

That didn’t make him enjoy it any less. 

Nothing made Joe happier than a finding a guy who reacted to his grapple with what Joe considered the proper enthusiasm. He reveled in them. Seth Rollins was a good one. He got gaspy and thrusty and goosebumps all over his skin. A great specimen, although, Joe got the feeling that guy kind of walked around half hard all the time, just dying for a someone, anyone, to show him a little attention. Roman Reigns always got a big stiff one, but he wasn’t any fun about it. He just tugged at the crotch of his pants and shrugged it off. Maybe he knew better. Maybe he was choking guys left and right in his off time. Who can tell?

He’s pretty sure Paul Heyman got hard before Joe got arms around him and, jesus, that was interesting. Interesting from the perspective of a delicious anomaly from your standard deviation and just fucking amazing from the perspective of the little kid who still lived in Joe’s brain and used to watch Paul E on television, all voice and long hair and taking out guys with a cell phone. 

The best reaction in the main roster though had to be Brock Lesnar.

If the Smithsonian ever needed a holotype for repressed white guy terrified by his own sexuality, it need look no further than Lesnar. Joe didn’t know if it was just that he was a man or also that it happened while Brock was on the defensive but all his observations told him two things. A: That the slightest bit of choking got Brock so achingly, tremblingly hard that it seemed like he would shoot off right there in the ring. And B: Brock found this situation horrifying beyond belief.

Of course, Joe loved it.

The best part was there was no way this was a new phenomena. Brock must have had hands on his throat before. Hell, Joe had seen him. Kurt Angle, Kane, _The Undertaker_. With this fascinating information opponent study for Brock became a delight.

Sometimes Joe just smiled at him. Dark and smug and knowing. Across a hotel lobby or a backstage hallway. Just smiled and watched to see how red Brock’s neck got.

It got pretty red.

Too tempting to ignore. Joe got close to him in line at an airport and before Brock had steeled himself to Joe’s presence he leaned in a whispered behind his ear. 

“You should try it. Just once. Maybe that’ll make it stop.” 

Brock tried to take a swing at him but he was already gone.

A few days later Brock got into an elevator with him, didn’t notice until the door had rolled closed. Joe could be like that if he wanted to. Sometimes you didn’t notice him until he laid a hand on your shoulder. He did that now. Joe heard Brock swallow.

“It’s better if it's me.” Joe said, low and quiet in the back of his throat. “I’m better. Some pretty boy might get your body all confused. Who knows what might happen then? And anyway, who’d believe me if I told?”

“Just once?” Brock murmured. 

Joe slid his hand forward around the curve of Brock’s neck. “Just once. Just to finally make it stop.” 

He made sure Brock knew where he was staying or could find out with minimal effort. It took two weeks but he eventually he showed up, all grim eyed and scowling at the door of Joe’s hotel room. Joe was wearing the white terrycloth bathrobe, open down the the front of his chest. He grinned.

Brock tried to bluster. Tried to barge around and take control, but they both knew it wasn’t happening. He ended up sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look small. Joe figured Brock was as physically incapable of looking small as he was of looking like a bicycle, but he looked like he wished he could feel small. Like he wanted the luxury of withdrawing into his skin. Joe went to him, tried to tilt Brock’s face upward. 

Brock flinched. “I’m not kissing you,” he said.

Joe laughed and tightened the hold he had around Brock’s face.“I’m not gonna hold your hand, Brock. I’m not even gonna suck your dick. Either we get to the main event or get out of here.”

Brock threw Joe’s hand off him, rose to his feet aggressively. Joe stayed his ground. There wasn’t anything like mercy in his eyes. 

Joe laughed, grabbed at his own crotch, bouncing the weight of his cock through his robe. “Unless you need a warm up.”

Brock shoved him. Joe shoved Brock back. Brock lurched for him again and then Joe lowered a shoulder and speared Brock backward onto the bed. Brock hadn’t been expecting an actual fight. That’s always how you beat Brock. Get on top of him before he knew what was happening and get a hand on the base of his throat.

“That’s it, Brocky,” Joe cooed. Brock had started to pinken, was thrusting his hips upward. Joe, bare under the bathrobe, could feel the outline of Brock’s swelling erection through his track pants. He got his other hand on Brock, measured the radius of Brock’s neck muscles and starting a slow but insistent squeeze. “That’s it.” 

Brock put both palms against the skin of Joe’s arms but didn’t pull, didn’t scrabble or even brace against Joe’s body. He just rested his hands there. They were hot, sweating. Joe rocked his hips, put his weight down exactly where Brock needed.

Joe let up, just for a second and listened to Brock gasping, sucking in air in huge breaths. He used the moment to shove Brock over onto his stomach. “That’s it,” he growled, pushing down against Brock’s hips and relishing his hiss and shudder. Brock gave a half hearted buck and Joe got an arm around his throat. “That’s what you needed.” Joe pulled Brock back, his back arching. Listened to the gawk and gasp as Brock’s eyes went glassy.

He roughly shoved Brock’s pants and boxers down to his knees, getting them caught on Brock’s dick and then releasing him to yank at the waistbands so hard he heard the fabric tear. He pressed close, rutting against Brock’s bare ass. Skin on skin rubbing sticky and hot. His belt had gone slack, letting his robe fall open.

Joe pulled the belt free with one hand, used the other to push between Brock’s legs, making room to guide his cock between Brock’s thighs. Then he wound the belt around Brock’s neck.

That got his attention. Brock’s hands went to his throat and now he was fighting back, now he scrabbled at the cord of terrycloth and tried to tear free from Joe’s grasp. He couldn’t. His muscles tightened all over, his skin going slick with sweat and Joe hammered forward and back, fucking himself between Brock’s legs. He put a hand down to rub his own head, fondling Brock’s balls in the process and finally finding a rough, heavily pressured movement that stroked both of them.

He swore and let up on the cord, let Brock take half a breath and then pulled back again. Kept doing it, again and again, off rhythm, half breaths and full breaths and quarter breaths and Brock wasn’t going to be able to swallow right for days. Finally Joe let go of the belt, let Brock drag it away from his throat and fall forward onto his elbows. Heard him groan. His ass was still perked up into the air and hips were still moving, still thrusting back against Joe’s hips and that’s what made Joe clench and come, hand going tight, trapping Brock’s cock against his belly.

Brock leaned his weight onto one forearm and caught Joe’s hand, slick and come streaked, not letting him ease up on the pressure until Brock had come to his own gasping wet relief. He mouthed at nothing as he came and shot spunk up inside his own t-shirt.

Joe took a moment to fully appreciate the hot slick of Brock’s softening cock, the ragged sound at the back of Brock’s throat, the feel of his stomach pressing against Brock’s ass. Then he let Brock go, working his hand free from Brock’s grip and sitting back on his heels. The robe spread out around him like a cape. He grinned. “Did you like it?”

“Shut up,” Brock croaked and, holding his pants up with one hand, he left.


End file.
